You Are Not Your Father
by Edi Fel
Summary: One shot fic, mild slash or mxm. A conversation between Severus and Harry when neither can sleep in the lonely castle.


You Are Not Your Father

Author: Kloak Dark

Warnings: This is slash, and it's Harry/Snape slash, though very mild, and there is some language along with Snape having a voice in his head. This book kind of ignores some facts from books five and six, just to let you know, because it would be hard to make this pairing even possible if I didn't. Shouldn't really be any spoilers, hope you guys have fun with it.

Disclaimer: I don't own them, just use them or my own devices I have to return them at the end of the day pouts

The motion of a bow sliding over strings produced the sound only a violin could make. Familiar sound echoed around the halls as Professor Severus Snape made his way down them, eyes closed as his fingers expertly played his instrument. He was unable to sleep, and this was his way of passing the time.

The quiet that reined over the halls during the summer was generally soothing, but the haunting reverberation of the melody seemed to be better for the moment. It had always seemed to be better actually, at least since _he_ started staying here.

Snape hated the fact that he'd originally resigned himself to sharing the castle over the summer. But, it wasn't his castle, and the young man had a right to be there. He worked here as well, much to the potions master's chagrin.

Well, that used to be how he felt about the whole thing. Now, it didn't bother him so much. It had been a long time since he'd accepted the fact he would never get the position he wanted, as he would have more of a chance to hex the cursed children he called students, and a better reason at that.

Of course, Potter was better qualified, still close to a child himself, and also having fought off the Dark Lord every year, until in his seventh year he'd finally killed him. Good riddance too.

This was his second summer having someone else in the castle with him, and he wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not, but he hadn't been staying in his room and drinking all the time. That was an improvement, or, at least it was supposed to be, according to Albus.

The boy, _man_, -he corrected- had done his very best to ensure they stay on civil terms throughout his job at the school. It hadn't been surprising to see him back as the DADA teacher though, he'd somehow expected it.

It did, however, give him great pleasure to know that he most likely wouldn't be around to put up with the next generation of Weasleys, or Malfoys, or any of his students' children. No, Potter would get to deal with them. Stupid youngster, take that.

Perhaps it was a twisted view, considering Draco was his godchild, but, still, he'd married a half Veela. Those children could cause a lot of damage, and considering he'd found out he and the Golden Boy had a relationship once upon a time, he thought it was Potter's own fault if he ended up taking care of too attractive kids and getting guilted into doing things. After all, he'd chosen to get close to Draco...or perhaps chosen was the wrong word.

The man made him feel old, knowing that he was soon to turn nineteen, while the Potions Master, forever the greasy git, was soon to turn forty two. A small sigh escaped his lips as he lowered the violin from his chin as he leaned against the wall.

"You play beautifully." A barely audible whisper that managed to cut through the air and startle the older man before he managed to compose his features and glare at the corner from which the words had flown.

Damn. How'd Potter manage to sneak up on him like that?

The glare did not fade as the young man stepped out of the shadows, arms crossed across his chest as he looked at his former teacher.

A slight sneer curled Severus' lips, though he didn't feel the animosity that normally held it there. Damn that stupid boy, _man._ Why do I keep having to correct myself?

"Would you stop looking at me like that? It ceased to intimidate me after about my first month with you last year."

"No, I will not, Potter." This was his comfort look...well, it wasn't comforting to anyone else but it comforted him to know he could practically put a trademark on it and no one could come close to how well he could intimidate with it. Even a quarter of his sneer could have Neville Longbottom upsetting his cauldron, and **had** done so for years. That was all beside the point.

"You're still as impossible a prat as ever."

"And you are still the biggest pain in the arse I've had the misfortune of teaching. Except perhaps Miss Granger, though I'd have to say so in the literal sense." That was very true, he'd never had a more difficult and troublesome student.

Though the trio was much worse together than seperated...they only managed to stay alive through being together he was sure. Had to be Granger, though she'd set his robes on fire in their first year. Didn't take him long to figure that one out. Not a great survival tactic.

"What are you thinking about?"

He was of course, snapped out of his thoughts to return his glare to that pale, inquiring, young, beautiful face. Stop it. Bad thoughts, don't go there, Potter, Potter, Potter. That wasn't helping.

He was trying to will any pleasant thoughts of the man out of his head as he turned to head for the kitchens. Chamomile would do nicely to calm him.

_But, he's staring at your retreating back_. I'm not retreating. _Yes you are._ Damnit, go away.

How would he say this so he didn't sound like Dumbledore? "I suspect your insomnia has kicked in, as has mine. A cup of chamomile should help you sleep." There, that should do nicely.

He could practically feel the raised eyebrow on the back of his neck. _Quit that Potter..._

"Snape are you-?"

"Inviting you to midnight tea?" His voice was mocking. "Yes, now hurry up."

The scuffle of slippered feet sounded through the hallway before he could feel the presence of the younger man behind him. It was a chore not to turn his head and look at the mussy haired man, as it had been even when he was in school.

For some reason the boy was rather compelling to behold, perhaps it was that odd energy that always hung about him. It wasn't the scar, not in Severus' case anyways, everyone else, well, they were them and he made it a practice not to understand the lot. The thing wasn't exactly attractive. _The scar, not Potter._ Neither.

Before he knew it the pair had made it to the kitchens and Harry reached forward to tickle the pear in the painting. It was odd but the boy, _man__damnit_, smelled of vanilla and cinnamon. Strange a mix as it was, the scent made him want to lick the full pink lips that seemed to radiate the scent.

Where did that thought come from? _Directly South. _That's not funny... _It wasn't supposed to be._ Go away...

The little voice in his head ceased for the moment and he was able to focus on what he was supposed to be doing as the painting slid open to reveal the way into the kitchen, into which he entered a little more quickly than he would have liked. Harry didn't appear to take note of his sudden rush for tea.

The house elves seemed to be sleeping, wherever it was that house elves slept, and so they would have to get their own pot of tea, which wasn't too big of a problem anyways. Severus just levitated a cup over to the stove, using a spell to fill it with water and lighting a fire.

"You'd think by now someone would have invented a spell to make water boil."

The man always said things that mirrored what was on everyone's mind. It was possible he simply didn't realize this fact, but it was always interesting to have someone who spoke their mind. True, it had been irritating while he was in school, but he hadn't clammed up as he'd gotten older.

"You would think." he agreed quietly, moving to sit down opposite the young man at one of the small tables that had replaced the larger ones for the summer.

They'd been sent off to be cleaned and a protective finish put on them. Kids inevitably dropped far too much food as they stuffed their gobs.

Why did he continue to teach when he resented teenagers? Well, someone had to teach them about potions, a few needed to know things or the art would die out.

"How long have you had insomnia?" he asked absently, not really too concerned with the answer.

"Since fifth year."

An eyebrow quirked up, but he did not question him.

"What about you?"

Ah, of course, the Gryffindor in Potter, along with his naturally curious nature would certainly have led to that question at some point that night. But when exactly did he start being unable to sleep? It was long ago and rather obscured.

"I think it was sometime not long before Black..." he simply trailed off and said nothing. Potter knew what he was getting at, and simply nodded his head in silence, looking away from him, eyes half closing in what seemed to be shame. It wasn't like it had been his fault, but he supposed it still bothered him.

While he was once again thinking about strange things, strange in his mind anyways, Potter had managed to think of another question for him.

"When did you start playing the violin?"

A slight smirk found his lips and he suppressed an amused chuckle. "Right after I took up teaching. It keeps me sane." It was true he'd taken up the instrument after he began teaching, but, it wasn't exactly for that reason alone. It helped him forget the stupid things he'd done and not think about some of the equally idiotic things he would possibly do in the future. Again, that was beside the point, as it was not at all what Potter had asked.

Then, something occurred to the greasy git he'd not thought about before. "How long have you stood in corners and listened to my playing?" His voice didn't have the dangerous edge it should have, but he blamed that on the fact he'd already played the violin and was quite calm after doing so.

_Yes, blame it all on the violin, it has nothing to do with the fact that you enjoy the fact that someone is able to hear and appreciate your music._ I thought you went away. _I decided it was in our best interest I come back._ Brilliant. I've decided it's bad for me when you decide anything.

A slight pink tinge lit up the young man's cheeks as he once again looked away from his old potions professor. "Since last summer."

The older man blinked a few times, trying to determine if he'd heard the other man correctly. He had been watching him all this time? And he'd never even noticed it? He must either be slipping, or Potter was getting better at sneaking about. His appreciation for either option was slim to none.

"So what made you speak to me today?" If he'd been watching all this time, logically he should have said something before.

A light shrug. "You normally just keep walking until you get back to your rooms. But, you stopped and you were leaning against the wall a bit like you felt sort of, um, depressed."

He thought I was depressed? What kind of rubbish is that? _He was just worried about you... _How many times am I going to have to tell you to leave me alone?

True, he'd never been a happy person, but depressed was one of those things he was sure he wasn't capable of. Anger and resentment were much more common to the greasy git.

"I'm not depressed." He stated simply.

"Perhaps lonely then?"

A loud snort and a humorless chuckle easily told Harry the answer to that question.

"Yeah, that was stupid of me to even suppose."

Oh my, how did he just word that? Was it even capable for Mr. H. Potter to possibly word something in a less than mundane, common, terribly popular way of speaking? You know, doing your best to show you were put through all those years of school for nothing? "It seems your vocabulary has expanded, Mr. Potter."

A small snort coming from the other professor. "Don't call me Mr. Potter, call me Harry. I'm tired of everyone giving me weird looks because you still reference me as Mr. Potter. The rest of the staff keep muttering about 'what's going on' between the two of us, which, as we both know, is nothing."

Near the end of that declaration, Harry had looked down and sighed, slipping a hand through his unruly hair in an attempt to straighten it a bit. Apparently he had trouble trying to get his students to take him seriously when his hair was so unkempt. Especially Slytherins. Though there were a lot of reasons for that.

But why did he sigh like that? It couldn't be just because he was tired of the rumors, he'd heard them everyday of his teenage and adult life. Such was the price of fame, even if you don't want it or can't remember the reason for it. Still, why would such a thing fall from those lips, the lithe frame shuddering lightly with it's intensity? That slight breath that always seemed to carry so much weight upon it, one could only imagine the possibilities or reasons for it's utterance. So why should the Golden Boy sigh in such a way?

"Fine then, Harry. I suppose that...you can call me Severus..." There had been that slight moment of hesitation. It couldn't be helped, he wasn't used to being kind in any manner. If it had not been for that bloody sigh, he would not have agreed to such a thing. Stupid sigh... Stupid Potter too for good measure.

The young Gryffindor looked like he was about to say something but then the tea kettle began to hiss and spout steam, letting them know the water had begun to boil, and then he had looked away again as Severus stood up. As he walked over to the stove, two cups zoomed over to him. Checking that they both had a bag of chamomile tea in them, he poured the steaming water into them and, blowing on them a little to cool the liquid down, took them back over and sat them down on the table.

Picking up one, Severus took a few careful but quiet sips, before sighing contentedly. Then he realized Harry was still there and that the man was looking at him. A thin eyebrow raised up slowly until the boy blushed and chuckled a bit.

"Sorry, I've just, never heard you sigh like that. Be careful, people might think there's a happy person in there somewhere, or at least a content one."

A good roll of the eyes before they rested on the bespectacled man who was smiling gently. "No, no, can't have people thinking that now can we? Suppose I'll just have to prove what a nasty man I am, and your little Gryffindors can all run to you in despair. Then you can give my Slytherins detention for slight things and they can come crying to me. The cycle will continue as our houses try to get back at one another. Oh, joy."

This time the young one actually dared to let out a giggle in the presence of the scary older man. Well, he was supposed to be scary anyways, but his intimidating glares didn't seem to work on Potter anymore. He supposed that was what happened when the cheeky brats grew up.

"I can almost imagine that you know? Pretty likely to happen if you get in a bad mood too. I just hope I don't get kidnapped for seventh year challenges again." He grimaced lightly. Apparently, the previous year when he'd gotten kidnapped by the Slytherins, the one guarding him had decided to confess his feelings of love and subsequently tried to seduce his Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

The Gryffindors who had snatched himself, however, had been much wiser than to try that and simply kept him stunned the whole night, saying nasty things that got them detention their last days of school. Bloody brats.

"I daresay, I rather enjoyed it, I got to remove some Gryffindor points and had quite a few detentions. Though the actual experience isn't exactly very entertaining. Of course, you had a much more action filled night than I. Surprised you managed to escape, quite a feat." It wasn't sarcastic, or sneering, it was simple truth. He knew his Slytherins, and the one in question wasn't exactly one to give up easily.

And then the little brat was laughing, not loudly, just laughing, and he smiled as he looked up at Severus. "Glad the Gryffindors bored you to death, as I highly doubt you'd want to be in my position. I do happen to have a plan to get both groups if they try that this year though."

The pale man fought the urge to raise his eyebrow with curiosity. He didn't want to know, he didn't, he didn't, he didn't.

_You just keep telling yourself that..._

"You should drink your tea before is gets cold." He pointed out.

The younger man blinked a few times and then gave an embarrassed laugh, seeming to have forgotten it was there at all, and then taking a few sips of it. A nod let him know the other man appreciated it.

So he has finally learned that he can speak without opening his mouth eh?

In accordance with Harry's silent thank you, the other gave him a silent nod indicating that he was welcome. It was in this peaceful and, for once, comfortable silence that the two would sit and share for near on a half hour, glancing at each other now and then.

In one such glance, onyx met with emerald and the two locked. It wasn't an uneasy gaze, not daring each other to look away. Suddenly the small distance between them was too great and the silence deafening.

"Why do you listen to me play the violin?" Severus' voice broke the quiet along with the scrape of a chair as Harry scooted closer, their knees knocking into each other lightly.

There was a pink tinge to the other man's cheeks, but Snape suspected it had nothing to do with his question. After all, when had a Potter ever been bashful about sneaking around?

"It's soothing to me, and, a talent like that deserves an audience, even if it's just a hidden or unwanted one."

Wise words... Did they just come out of Potter's mouth? Truly? It seemed that sometime during the previous years the boy had blossomed into a man, and with it gained wisdom that even he had not gained in his many years.

"Severus.."

"Mm?"

"I-" he cut himself off as he leaned forward and gently pressed his lips to the corner of the Potions Master's mouth, then resting his head on his shoulder. "I just wanted you to know I never really hated you."

The man had tensed up slightly, not having been kissed in such a long time by anyone that it seemed extremely odd. It didn't help that it was from someone he'd only just starting recognizing as a man and not the boy who plagued Snape during his school days. Reaching his hand up, he gently ran it down the other's back. "And I never really hated you."

"But, my father-"

He'd been cut off yet again, this time by lips pressed against his own in a chaste kiss. "You are not your father." The hand had somehow found it's way back up the hero's back and into his unruly black hair.


End file.
